


Matchmaker

by irisbleufic



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-01
Updated: 2006-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Agnes had known that Heaven and Hell existed ever since she first attended church as a child. It was common sense, she told people, though what she didn't tell them was that her common sense was backed up by the fact she'd glimpsed an angel trying to disguise itself amongst the statues. It had got a guilty look on its face and vanished.</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in 2006.

Agnes had known that Heaven and Hell existed ever since she first attended church as a child. It was common sense, she told people, though what she didn't tell them was that her common sense was backed up by the fact she'd glimpsed an angel trying to disguise itself amongst the statues. It had got a guilty look on its face and vanished.

She was also fairly certain she'd seen a devil, though it hadn't looked much different.

All the same, with a gift like hers, you just couldn't call it chance or coincidence. No, there was Somebody up there calling the shots, and Somebody in the cellar, too. It was something like rival kingdoms, or governments, or corporations, but she'd made the mistake of trying to explain the concept of corporations to somebody once and had been given the dimmest look she'd been given since the last time she tried to explain something. Still, she hoped England would come on eventually.

In addition to confirmation of the existence of the Two Powers, she'd also discovered, no thanks to the Frenchman who'd fathered her son, that all one needed was Love.

* * *

The first time that Agnes saw her great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter, she was wide awake and most definitely not dreaming.

It was an irritation, really, to be stirring one's evening stew at one moment and to be seeing straight through the bottom of the pot and into Somewhere Else the next. What she saw appeared to be illuminated by candlelight, and it appeared to be her own features peering out from the face of an eleven or twelve year-old girl. She was reading her name, which was printed on a yellowing page: _Anathema_.

What she was reading from was the Book, which Agnes hadn't thought of yet.

But she'd start writing it as soon as supper was finished.

* * *

The next time that Agnes saw Anathema, she _was_ dreaming.

The girl had grown quite a bit. In fact, she was not so much a girl anymore as a handsome, slender young woman of about nineteen or twenty. And she was bent over a bed, which had linens dyed a color that no weaver outside France had ever thought of. Sprawled on the bed, there was a gangling, unconscious young man with dark, lamentably short hair, and also a very nasty looking bruise on his head.

Anathema was looking through his wallet.

 _Witchfinder Private Newton Pulsifer_ , she mouthed, frowning.

Pulsifer, was it?

Agnes stirred in her sleep. She'd have a prophecy or two to add when she woke.

* * *

The story was becoming very clear now, only it wasn't really a story. The End of the World was as real as anything else that Agnes could lay hands or mind upon, and her descendants would live to see it, and were letting her see it. She wasn't very sure how all of it worked, but then, you couldn't question what you'd been given.

It was hard not to question, though, when the things you'd been given happened to include glimpses into your descendants' private lives, or the private lives of people they knew. The trouble was, her descendants knew more than just people.

Nighttime again, darkness. Candlelight again, strange and over amplified. One of those odd chariots. A two-wheeled vehicle that Anathema called Phaeton. Two men who gave off light that suggested they weren't actually men. Angels, or devils. 

Or both.

By morning, Agnes had worked it out, and she woke up laughing.

Above and Below would never even know what hit them.

* * *

Agnes knew, of course, because Anathema had known.

It was all very convoluted when it came down to it, but it was better not to speculate. In Anathema's world, it wasn't such an unusual thing. There was a word for it. And they wouldn't lock you up or burn you if they caught you at it. At least not in England.

Through the bottom of her wine bottle, Agnes watched the Powers touch hands and decided that, yes, England would come on just fine.

It would have to work on its roadways, though.

Or at least put up signs about fish.


End file.
